You Can Only Change One
by Smalls2233
Summary: Vampire!AU, at almost five hundred years old, Sherlock Holmes had begun to give up on life, most vampires had changed their one person by that age. Sherlock hadn't and only put the vaguest thought into it, before he met John. Slight sexual themes and BL
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hello! This is going to be a Sherlock Vampire AU and it's going to contain slash. Pairings will be Sherlock x John and Mycroft x Lestrade. Enjoy!

He was so terribly bored, there had been no new cases to suit his intellect out there so he just lay on his floor, glaring at his ceiling. It was a grubby place, but it was all he could afford then; his damned brother had stopped lending him money and said he should get a real job. That he should do something that actually paid and wasn't consulting about crimes. He refused, however, and just had to deal with addicts. With the thought of addiction he let out a long sigh; how he wished for a cigarette. Barely able to afford rent, he'd never be able to get his so desperately wanted cigarettes.

Oh damn. Rent, Sherlock thought. He had forgotten to pay it again. No sooner than he thought it, his landlord came charging up his stairs. He could easily knock him out or "convince" him to ignore his rent, but Mycroft would be on his case before the man even left the room. He always seemed to know when Sherlock used his powers and when he didn't. He probably had his blood-slaves (aka the entire British government) install cameras and microphones into his room to keep an eye on him.

"Mr. Holmes, I've been patient with you for long enough. You never pay rent on time, and my other tenants say they constantly smell chemicals coming from your room. I have no choice but to evict you from this flat. I'll give you a day to pack up, and then I want you out," his landlord said. "I also want this month's rent by tomorrow as you leave. If you don't have it, I will call the police. I've been far too patient with you. Good day to you, Mr. Holmes." He walked out.

Right after the landlord left, Sherlock received a text: "Kicked out already, dear brother? Stay with me until you find a new flat. M."

Sherlock let out a sigh; he had no choice but to stay with Mycroft. Wait, he did have a choice. He remembered a little old lady whose husband he helped get executed. She had said that she'd always welcome him to a flat, and even for a lesser price than she'd give most of her tenants.

Sherlock pulled out his mobile phone and dialled Mycroft. "Seems I won't be needing to stay with you after all, Brother. A former client of mine had so graciously said I could have one of her spaces after I helped get her husband executed. Such a terrible loss; I know I'll dreadfully miss staying with you." His sarcasm was plain in those last words; he loathed his brother with a passion. However, he did find it interesting that he himself hated phone calls and preferred to text, whereas Mycroft did the exact opposite. Although Sherlock loathed Mycroft there was still a deep bond between the two, shared because they were blood brothers and they had been changed at the exact same time.

"And may I ask where you'll be staying?" Mycroft said.

"221B Baker Street. Please don't have your blood slaves install cameras into every room, Mycroft, it's extremely unpleasant." Sherlock answered.

"Sherlock, you don't have to make it unpleasant. You know you could just stay with me and it would be so much easier. You could also get a job that pays and get out of Lestrade's hair. I understand he's a vampire as well, but that doesn't mean you have to bother him on every case," Mycroft sighed.

"Bother him? Mycroft, I solve the cases for him. It's only because you're completely infatuated with him (as was the reason you turned him, which, may I add, was a stupid choice. You do understand that most vampires train who they're going to turn and only turn them as a last resort? We can only make one other vampire, Mycroft). He's so dull compared to me and he misses the simplest things. He needs me, Mycroft. Not to mention he seems to like me – an outstanding accomplishment for most people," Sherlock said, growing bored with the conversation.

He hung up the phone and dialled another number. "Mrs. Hudson? Yes, it's me... It's wonderful to hear from you too, I was actually thinking of taking you up on that offer of a flat... It's free? Great, I'll see you tomorrow." There was a person he liked, and she liked him back. The old lady (though still but a blink compared to his age!) always managed to bring a smile to the vampire's face, a genuine smile.

He began to pack his things with inhuman strength and speed. He had no use staying in that flat anymore, not when there was one with a landlady he could actually stand waiting for him just a few blocks away. After sticking a hastily written cheque to his door, he was off. He loaded his boxes into a "borrowed" car from his neighbours. It was borrowing as long as he gave it back, after all.

He arrived at Baker Street in just a few minutes, he probably passed a few speed limits, but for a man who didn't have a license he drove pretty well. He got out of the car and knocked on the door of 221B Baker Street.

"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed, wrapping her arms around the skinny vampire. "It's good to see you, you look so thin though. Are you sure you've been eating enough?" She asked him.

"I've been eating plenty, Mrs. Hudson. I just don't gorge myself on food like my fat brother does." He hoped that Mycroft was paying attention to the CCTV cameras that were undoubtedly trained on him.

"Sherlock, don't say that about your brother! After all, family is the most important thing in this world." Mrs. Hudson tutted. "Anyway, where did you get the car, Dearie?"

"I borrowed it," Sherlock said, a boldface lie. However Mrs. Hudson bought it completely.

"From a friend? Well, I'd help you carry your things in, however I have a hip so you'll have to do it yourself. If you need me, just call," the old lady said, walking off but leaving the door open. "You'll find a key to the flat in the kitchen, as well as some biscuits. Don't expect this to often though, Dearie, I'm your landlady, not your housekeeper."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock said, giving the old woman a kiss on the cheek (a move he didn't do often; he didn't like people or touching them.) Sherlock didn't plan on eating the biscuits; although he could eat mortal food it gave him no nourishment. On cases he would forgo even blood; On a regular day he tended to have only a small sip of blood. He ignored mortal food completely. He did not feast like his brother did. There was a reason he called him fat; though only slightly overweight by human standards, Mycroft was a terrible glutton compared to Sherlock.

With a small grunt, he lifted the first heavy box from the ground then, balancing it on one hand, he grabbed the second box. It was a balancing act; if he tripped, it was extremely possible for both boxes to tumble, and with their fragile contents that would have been a disaster. He walked up the narrow staircase, using all of his concentration to not tip the boxes. Even though he was a vampire with inhuman strength, it was hard for him not to tip the boxes over. Perhaps it would have been a better idea to have stacked the boxes on top of each other. As brilliant as Sherlock was, he could make the dumbest mistakes from time to time. He had a bad tendency to "delete" things he thought of no importance from his mind. It was just one of his many awful habits. Mycroft loved to make fun of him about it; he'd constantly ask him questions about the solar system he knew he couldn't answer.

Sherlock set the boxes down on the table, next to the plate of biscuits, and without thinking, grabbed a biscuit and ate it. It wasn't for nourishment or anything, more that he just really liked Mrs. Hudson and didn't want her food to go to waste. How he wished for a glass of blood though – he would have killed for it. He chuckled at his own joke that he never voiced. The superstitions people held about vampires were ridiculous; although prolonged exposure to bright and direct sunlight would kill it took quite a while. He didn't need to kill to take blood from people. He could go to church but he didn't believe in anything he couldn't have proof of so he left religion to others. It was not a Holmes family tradition to believe in any god. He could be killed by a stray bullet just as anyone, it was just harder; only a shot to his brain or his heart would kill, so theoretically a staking could be done. It was done in the past as well; in the time of angry religious mobs, anyone could be accused of being a bloodsucker and stabbed through the heart. It was only rarely that they ever got a real vampire, though. His kind was too crafty to get caught by sickly mortals.

By the time Sherlock stopped chuckling, he was back at the car. He knew he needed to hurry up so he could return the car before its owner noticed its absence, but he didn't really care. All it would take was a bit of "convincing" the police it was fine with him then it would be over. Not to mention Mycroft would easily drop any charges against him; he was the British government, after all.

Mycroft would annoy him about it though, and he really didn't want to be bothered by his brother. He seemed to love bothering him. He was almost as bad as Anderson in the sense that his favourite activity in the world was simply bothering Sherlock. He didn't despise them though, he didn't care enough to despise anyone. After over five hundred years on Earth, he didn't have the capacity to care much about little things like that anymore. All he wanted to do was simply solve crimes, and when the time came, create an heir for himself. An heir or a lover, those were the two things he'd create a vampire for. He didn't want a servant or anything like that, he just wanted someone he could connect with. He never would have changed Mrs. Hudson though, she was too old and female. The female roles in his life had led to nothing but distaste for that gender. His mother was controlling and would tend to beat both he and Mycroft before they left for their apprenticeship. He had stayed away from most women after that point.

Mrs. Hudson was the exception to his rule against women. However he wasn't about to change her. The only issue though, was that he didn't want to lose her either. Mrs. Hudson was so sweet (and despite her constant grumblings, she'd pick up after him without him having to "convince" her to do it.) A mother figure he had never had in his human life he found late into his vampiric life with Mrs. Hudson.

Sherlock hoisted the last of the boxes out of the car. He could feel his skin beginning to burn, he'd be red in the morning. All he wanted to do then was lay down and drink blood so his skin would heal faster, but no, he had to finish unpacking so Mycroft didn't get on his case about what he would say was stealing a car. Sherlock sighed and walked up his narrow stairs. He ran an eye about his flat, it was already loaded with boxes. He managed to find a nook to shove the box, and he was off. He sped along the streets to his old apartment. When he arrived there, however, the car's owner was in a rage.

Oh boy, thought Sherlock, time to get in an annoying confrontation.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing with my car?" The portly man screamed, spit flying around the air.

"You lent me the car, don't you remember, George?" Sherlock said, he began to "convince" the man that he lent Sherlock his car.

"Oh, right. Well, return it sooner, would you, Sherly?" Sherlock shuddered at the nickname. "I have to get to a football game with my mates."

"Have a good day, George." Sherlock said, shuddering as he walked off. He had to do something besides go back to the flat and unpack. The morgue! Sherlock thought. He felt around in his coat and felt his riding crop in it. I'll go to St. Bartholomew's and do some tests on the corpses. That always cheers me up! Sherlock got excited at the image of whipping the corpses and seeing the beautiful, beautiful data they'd record on their skin for him to see. He grinned, not too wide so that people could see his fangs, but wider than he usually smiled. Oh it would turn out to be a good day after all!


	2. Chapter 2

When he arrived at St. Bartholomew's it was just about lunch time and he saw a mousey form rush out the door. "Oh, Molly, I need you for a second!" Sherlock exclaimed, wrapping his arm around the poor girl's shoulders and turning her around.

"What is it, Sherlock?" Molly asked shyly.

"Oh I need to use the morgue, I had the urge to test something on the corpses." Sherlock told Molly, he knew exactly how she felt and used it for his own purposes. _Almost easier than a blood-slave_, the vampire thought to himself.

"Oh, y-yeah. Follow me. Do you think you could let me get lunch first though? It's my break and I haven't eaten anything besides breakfast this morning." Molly said, nervously playing with her hair.

"Eating, boring." Sherlock said. "What is up with you people and eating? Eat later."

"Oh, okay." Molly said as she led Sherlock to where they kept the corpses. She noticed how his eyes lit with pleasure when he saw all the bodies laying around. _All toys for him to play with_, she thought.

"Oh perfect," Sherlock said, walking over to a fresh body. "How long?" he asked as he unzipped the bag. "No more than an hour," He sniffed the corpse. "No, less than that, thirty minutes?"

"Yeah, we just got him in. They say he was poisoned or something." She said.

"Well, let's start with the riding crop." Sherlock said as he wheeled the body to the next room and pulled his crop out of his pocket. "Perfect subject for this."

He must have been whipping the crop for at least an hour. All the while he talked to Molly, however he got no response. Not that he noticed, of course, as she wasn't there. Sherlock was too engrossed in his work to notice. "As I was saying, Molly, the bruises appearing on this are marvelous. Truly astounding that even though the heart stopped, he can still bruise."

"Molly's not here, Mate, went to grab crisps." Mike Stanford said to Sherlock. "Anyway, heard you got a new flat. Any chance you need a flatmate? Your brother told me an old friend of mine came back to town and he probably should get a better flat than the cheap hotel he's staying at now."

"Who would want me as a flatmate?" Sherlock scoffed.

"Well, I'm going to go try to find him and tell him about it. I'm sure he'd like you."

"Hm." Sherlock mumbled, not paying attention at that point. He really didn't care. He put away the body, sterilized his riding crop, and went to examine different properties of blood. His stomach growled at the scent of the blood, he hadn't drank for several days, and the sun was beginning to show it's effect on him. He needed something, but he had tests to run, nutrition could come later for him.

"Hello?" John asked, limping into the room with his old friend, Mike.

"Mike, phone, now." Sherlock said, not even bothering to look up, only lifting up one hand.

"Sorry, Mate, phone's dead." Mime replied.

"Here, you can use mine." John said, limping over to Sherlock and handing him his phone.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" Sherlock asked.

"What?" John.

"It's clear you've been in war and the only areas we've recently been in are Afghanistan and Iraq, so which one was it?"

"I'm sorry, how could you tell that?"

"Painfully obvious. Which one was it?"

"Afghanistan."

"Ah." Sherlock sent a quick text. "I added my number in there, 221B Baker Street. Meet me there tomorrow. Do you mind violins?"

"No, as long as they're good. Why?"

"I play when I think. Meet me there tomorrow, name's Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock said as he walked off with a wink. He didn't understand why he did that, he hated people, but John smelled so good. His mouth watered and his fangs felt painfully obvious. Oh god he had never wanted another's blood like he wanted the veteran's.

John stepped out of the cab and paid the driver. He wasn't sure as to why he was doing this, he only met the man once and only very briefly. However here he was, right outside of the flat where he was about to move in. He had only a small bag of clothes, he didn't own many things. Swallowing nervously, John Watson knocked on the door. An older lady looked at him and smiled.

"You must be Sherlock's new flatmate!" She exclaimed. "I'm Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock helped me with my husband a few years back."

"Helped you with your husband?" John asked, fairly confused.

"Helped get him executed. I found the evidence against him. I'm a consulting detective, the world's only one." Sherlock said, smoothly walking down the stairs. "Come this way, I'll show you the flat."

John followed the taller man with Mrs. Hudson walking behind. When he entered the flat, it was a mess. Things were strewn everywhere and was that a… Human skull on the mantle?

"I talk to it as I think. Talking aloud helps me think better." Sherlock explained after he noticed John's stare. He walked over to it and caressed its top. It had been a good friend to him over the years.

"Will you boys be needing one bedroom, or two? Don't worry, there's all sorts around here." Mrs Hudson asked.

John sputtered, "Of course two bedrooms! I met this man today!"

Sherlock was strangely quiet. He eyed John like a predator does its prey. "Two bedrooms would be fine." He eventually said, looking at John closely. He was a fine looking man, rather plain but not bad, and the smell of his blood. Sherlock stifled a moan, how he longed for it!

Sherlock's phone buzzed. The serial suicides had gotten another person, but this time there was a note? He grinned "Mrs. Hudson I need to go, new suicide and this time a note! It's like Christmas!" He exclaimed excitedly. Maybe the case would be interesting after all. He raced downstairs and grabbed his coat. He noticed he forgot something and raced up the stairs.

"You've been in war. Seen enough danger to last a lifetime."

"Yes."

"Want more?"

"Oh god, yes."

The duo rushed down to hail a cab to arrive at the scene. Both were giddy with excitement. "John Watson." The army doctor said, extending a hand.

"Sherlock Holmes, you already knew that. I dislike touching people, by the way." Sherlock said, ignoring John's hand and instead giving a nod.

"Ah, so how did you notice I was from war, Sherlock?"

"Easy, it was simply observation taking place, John," Sherlock said John as if he were testing it out. "You also have a drunken brother, Harry, who was a wife beater and a severe alcoholic. The phone was a present from him after he and his wife split. You don't care much for him but continue using the phone because you can't afford anything else after being dismissed due to your injury. Which may I add is on your shoulder, not your leg, a psychosomatic limp caused by PTSD but not that because you miss the war. It's caused by the fact that you miss the wad, not because it scarred you."

"Amazing, bloody amazing." John said, staring at Sherlock with wide eyes.

"That's not what they usually say."

"What do they usually say?"

"Piss off."

Both Sherlock and John laughed, so hard that by the time they arrived at the scene of the latest suicide, they had to wipe tears of mirth from their eyes. When they arrived, however, Sherlock's mood changed.

"Anderson," he growled.

"Holmes," Anderson glared at Sherlock. The hatred the two men felt for each other was painfully obvious. "Who's that? New fuck buddy?"

John didn't like Anderson, but as soon as he was about to send out a snarling reply, Sherlock pushed him forward. "Hate that bastard." Sherlock whispered into his ear with a glare towards Anderson.

"Sherlock, what are you doing here?" Lestrade asked with a disappointed glance at Sherlock.

"Has my brother been telling you to stop letting me in at crime scenes, Lestrade? Anyway, you texted me, I doubt you thought I wouldn't come."

Lestrade let out a sigh. "Who is that with you anyway, Sherlock, you don't seem to have many friends."

John coughed, "I'm his Jew flatmate. I'm a former army doctor put out of commission due to getting shot. Sherlock dragged me along."

Lestrade shrugged, clearly at a loss as to what to do. "Five minutes, Sherlock, no more."

Sherlock walked past the man and practically ran up the stairs. John limped up after him, shooting an apologetic glance at Lestrade. When he got up there Sherlock was shooting off words at light speed. John couldn't keep up, Sherlock touched the body, muttered something, then moved over for something else.

"Murder!" Sherlock's voice was gleeful. "Oh it's a serial killer, love those. John check how she died, you're a doctor after all." Sherlock looked beside himself with joy.

"Poisoned." John said after examining the body. "Some type of poison I haven't seen before. Of course I can't fully know without a lab test, but I think it's probably poison."

Sherlock barreled down the stairs, pushing past Lestrade and Anderson as he did so. "Sherlock!" John called, limping after the man. He gave up and sighed, he walked slowly down the stairs and as he left he came face to face with a woman.

"What is your relation with Holmes?" She asked.

"Pardon me, but I don't think you have the right to ask that. I don't know you." John replied.

"Lt. Sally Donovan, Sherlock Holmes is trouble. He doesn't get paid you know. He thinks this is some sort of game. He gets off on it, the look on his face when it's a bloody murder looks lime someone laid out a feast for him. The bloodier it is, the more gleeful he gets. Stay away from him, one day he'll be the murderer and he'll still solve it. Stay away from Sherlock Holmes." Sally Donovan warned.

A/N hey everyone! Thanks for the reviews, faves, and story alerts. I hope you all are enjoying this. I won't be able to update for a bit as I'll only have access to my iPod from Thurs-Tues so unless I can use my friend's to update, I'll be unable to. I'll still write though, this was written on my iPod actually hehe. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! The story won't go too into _A Study in Pink_, instead I'm going to focus on something more that you'll just have to wait and see what it is!


	3. Chapter 3

John stared at the woman. "He hasn't aged a day since he originally started working with us ten years ago. The man's not natural." Sally added.

John laughed without humour. "Is this some sick joke of your's? Piss off." He stormed off, ignoring the woman's look.

He had been limping past several streets by the time that he noticed the phones would ring each time he walked past them. Muttering explicits under his breath, he walked up to one. "Hello?" He asked, hoping he sounded more pleasant than he felt.

"John Watson." The voice on the phone said. "Look around you, there are several CCTV cameras trained on you. Look around to see for yourself."

John looked and sure enough several cameras were trained on him. His blood felt cold. "Who are you?" He demanded.

"Doesn't matter, there will be a car coming for you. Get in it, Doctor Watson." The voice ordered. John's first instinct was to run, to get the hell out of there. "Don't run, Doctor Watson, it won't be hard to find you again." The voice was right, if he ran it would still be useless, the man had been able to track him thus far and would probably he able to do so again. The car pulled up, "I will see you soon." He said, and John heard the line go dead and he felt a growing feeling of dread in his stomach.

_Man up, John_, he thought. He stepped into the car and slid next to a young woman who could have been no older than twenty five who was busily texting on her phone. "It would be of no use to me attempt to run, would it?" John asked.

The woman didn't look up. "No." She replied, staring at her mobile phone. John sighed, apparently the girl would ignore all attempts at conversation. He stared out the window and wondered what happened to his life that made him get kidnapped by a stranger in a car with a girl who wouldn't even talk to him. The only sound was the sound of the smooth motor and the furious clicking of the girl's keys as she texted.

The car rolled to a stop and John's door opened. The girl removed a hand from her phone and made a waving motion. "Go on, get out." She said, the longest sentence he had herd her utter. John got out of the car and was led to the basement of the building where one man in a posh suit stood.

"Hello, John." The man said, same voice as was on the phone.

"Who are you?" John asked guardedly.

The man just raised an eyebrow and ignored John's question. "What is your business with Sherlock Holmes? You just met him and now moved in with him. Should we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?" The man asked.

John gritted his teeth "That is of no business of you. I'll ask you again, who are you?"

"Oh you are persistent, just a concerned party. I should be concerned when it comes to my dear little brother. He seems to get in so much trouble." He said. "Now, I have a favour to ask of you, you'll get a nice sum of money for it. I want you to spy on my brother for me, nothing too personal. Just make sure that he eats, what he's buying, and other things that shouldn't make you too uncomfortable."

John looked at the man "No. I'm not about to spy on my flatmate for you." He said.

"You have trust issues yet you trust Sherlock Holmes, why?" The man asked.

As John was about to reply his phone buzzed. A text read "Come to Baker Street if convenient -SH" A few seconds later his phone buzzed again "If not, come anyway -SH"

The man looked at John expectantly "I'm guessing you'll need to be leaving me now. Remember my deal, Doctor Watson, it will stay out there. Night night, don't let the Sherlock bite!" He walked off, swinging him umbrella as he disappeared into the gloom of the dark warehouse.

"Mycroft." Sherlock's voice was a growl "Why are you invading on my privacy?"

Mycroft laughed, "Your little toy is so loyal to you. His blood smells delicious as well, I'm sure all this is a little game to get a nice source of a meal. If it's not, well, you're a naughty boy." His eyes narrowed, as if Sherlock could see his look over the phone.

"I've debated on it." Sherlock admitted. "It would be easiest, but I'm on a case and you know I don't eat on cases."

"Which is stupid. One of these days you're going to fall dead, Sherly." Mycroft knew he'd piss off Sherlock with the nickname which was exactly why he used it "and I don't think I'd be able to handle it."

"Your fake concern is so touching, Mycroft. I don't know what I'd do without it." Sherlock gritted his teeth, how he loathed his brother! "I don't appreciate you kidnapping my flatmate either, Mycroft."

"Flatmate, oh dear you are getting quite sentimental about Doctor Watson, aren't you? The smell of his blood must be getting to your head." Mycroft's tone turned serious. "Turn him into a blood-slave, Sherlock."

Sherlock sighed, it would be so much easier to turn John into a blood-slave. He'd never ignore him, always listen to what he said, perfect little pet. Something inside of him detested the idea, however. It was possibly because his brother suggested it, but for some reason the vampire just liked John's company. He thought the two could be friends, even if he hated people something in John attracted him. He blamed it on the man's blood, some humans were known to have blood that was basically catnip to vampires. It was supposed to be the most amazing blood known to vampires. Sherlock's mouth watered at the thought of that blood. Well, just a taste couldn't hurt him, could it.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft asked, he began saying something when Sherlock ended the call and sent a quick text. Ugh, when would John get there? He needed him to do something!

Finally John entered the flat. "What is it Sherlock, and why did I get kidnapped?" He demanded. As if on a second thought he added. "Who was he? Why did he say "Don't let the Sherlock bite?"

Sherlock ignored his questions "Did you accept his offer to spy on me?"

"No." John replied.

"Shame," Sherlock said. "We could have used the money."

"Who was he, Sherlock?"

"You never shut up, do you? My brother, Mycroft. Also known as the British Government. Now send a text for me to this number." He held out a phone number to John.

"You called me over here to type out a text for you?" John nearly screamed. "I was on the other side of London!"

"Oh shut up." Sherlock snapped. "Just send the text for me!"

"Why did he say to not let you bite, Sherlock?" John demanded. "Why are you ignoring my questions?"

"Because they're boring! Just do what I told you to do." Sherlock said back._ Mycroft must have done something to him to have made that stick in his head_, Sherlock thought. It was well within the vampire's abilities to do that. It was a question as to why Mycroft did that. Did he want John to know about what he was?

"Sherlock?" John asked, noticing the look on Sherlock's face. "Look, I'll send the text for you and I'll stop with the question if it makes you uncomfortable."

"Did Mycroft bite you, John?" Sherlock asked, once again ignoring John.

"What? No! Why would he have done that?" John answered, a mixture of confusion and worry growing on his face. "Sherlock, what the hell are you talking about? Don't ignore me again."

"Vampires, John." Sherlock said.

"What? This is some type of joke, isn't it? There's a camera team here I just know it. Oh ho ho, you got the army doctor. Now be serious, Sherlock." John's eyes narrowed as he got angry. It was one thing for Sherlock to ignore his questions, another for the man to completely lie to him.

"A joke?" Sherlock said. "Is that the coping mechanism your silly little brain comes up with?" Sherlock asked, beginning to laugh. He sat up from his laying position and bared his teeth at John. "Because this is so fake."

John's eyes widened at the site before him. Almost on instinct, he punched Sherlock in the face, squarely hitting him in the nose. Blood began to flow freely from the vampire's nose. Sherlock growled and launched himself at John, the blood scent sending him into a frenzy. He latched onto John's neck and bit down.

"What the hell are you doing?" John screamed. "Stop th- aaahhh" he moaned when Sherlock began sucking the blood out of his neck. The pleasure put him on a high, he forgot why he should be fighting Sherlock. He just wanted more of that wonderful feeling.

"Sherlock Holmes!" A voice yelled. "Stop this before you kill the man!" Sherlock was pulled off of John, the bite mark healing almost instantly after the vampire was pulled away. However, when Sherlock was pulled away, John fell to the ground. All of his strength had been ripped from his body, but how he longed for that bite again, it had been the most wonderful sensation he had ever felt.

Lestrade looked at Sherlock. "What the hell were you doing? You were this close to killing him! Be glad your brother noticed and called me!"

"Of course he noticed, he was the one who bloody organised this. He basically slipped the secret to John." Sherlock replied, wiping blood off of his mouth and nose. "Anyway, John punched me so hard in the nose that it started bleeding. I went into a blood frenzy."

"What was this about me slipping the secret to John?" Mycroft asked after silently oozing into the room and wrapping his arm around Lestrade. "I did nothing of the sort." His smile was so sickly sweet it made Sherlock want to throw up all the blood he had just drunk. The army doctor's blood tasted as good as it smelt and Sherlock longed for more of it. He knew that if he drank from John again though, the man would be forced into becoming a blood-slave. The man would already be longing for Sherlock to drink more of his blood and any further drinks would make him completely addicted.

"Hs does smell wonderful…" Lestrade said with a dreamy look on his face. "He smells so sweet. Can I just have a sip?"

"No, Lestrade. I don't think my brother would appreciate that very much. He probably wants him to be his blood-slave." Mycroft said, licking his lips as well. "Dear brother, what a wonderful toy you've got. Now drink from him again, bind him to you." His voice turned nasty.

It was then that John began to come around. He tried to sit up and failed. "Ugh, what happened? I punched Sherlock and I forget everything from then." John said groggily. His mind felt so hazy, he felt like he had done something amazing but couldn't remember it. "What happened?"

Lestrade said "Sherlock bit you and drained you of blood. Which reminds me, Sherlock do you have any juice? John will probably need some."

"Of course not, why would I need juice?" Sherlock scoffed.

"Nevermind then, what about your landlady? She has to have something. He needs blood sugar because you iust nearly drained him dry." Lestrade said.

"This is why you need to drink more, little brother." Mycroft said, removing his arm from Lestrade. "Too concerned with this silly hobby of your's to care about yourself. You could do so much more than this."

"Hold on a second. What the fuck is going on here? Drink, blood loss, draining me dry, vampires." Sherlock couldn't tell if it was loss of blood or terror that made John stark white. "Are you trying to say vampires are… Real?"

"Yes, and you're in a room with three of them." Mycroft said, smiling at John. "Don't try to run, John Watson, we're much faster than you. Though I suggest attempting to walk, I'd imagine your leg can handle your weight now."

John looked at the men with pure terror in his eyes. He was not one to be scared easily, he had been through war after all, but vampires. Real life vampires, evil, bloodsucking monsters. "Vampires." He barely managed to squeak out, scooting back as quickly as he could with his arms that felt like jelly.

"Oh please, if I were to hurt you I would have done that in the warehouse. I'm more civilised than that though. I'm not going kill you. Nor will I drink from you, my brother seems to have taken care of that for me."

Mrs. Hudson knocked on the door. "Is everything alright in there, Sherlock?"

"I need some juice, John collapsed." Sherlock replied.

"Oh dear! I'll be right back, Dearie." She replied, sounding flustered.

The men sat in an awkward silence until Mrs. Hudson came back. Lestrade would check his phone occasionally for updates on the case and if he noticed the pink case sitting on the kitchen table, he said nothing about it. When Mrs. Hudson came back, she had a tall glass of orange juice and the rest of the carton with her. She insisted that it was no issue to her. Sherlock took the glass from her and gave her a kiss on the cheek. He gave it to John who took slow, small sips of it until he eventually finished the glass.

John attempted to stand up after finishing the glass. He was shocked when his leg didn't go out under him, but after a few steps he began wobbling again. There was no way he'd be able to make it up the stairs to his bedroom. He felt a pair of arms lift him up like he weighed nothing and dropped him off in… Sherlock's bedroom?

"This isn't my room you know." He said, expecting to see Mycroft or Lestrade when he turned around, but instead saw Sherlock. "What happened to your no touch policy?" For some reason, he didn't fear Sherlock like he thought he would. He didn't fear Lestrade either. Mycroft was a completely different story, but for different reasons. The memories of what had happened returned to him when he had drunk the orange juice and he longed for the bite again. He blushed as he thought of it. He was sure he had moaned, and he was certain the vampire - oh god his flatmate's a vampire - had heard it. He prayed he didn't, but he was sure he had.

"I've drunk from you so the no touch policy doesn't seem to affect us anymore. You're here because it's too much work carrying you upstairs." Sherlock said simply. "As much as I'm sure you enjoyed me drinking from you," yeah he noticed alright. "I will not again. God knows it tasted wonderful, but I'm sure you like free will."

John turned bright red. "I didn't enjoy it!" He protested.

"I guess those moans were a lie then." Sherlock was just rubbing it in now.

"Will I become a vampire now?"

"Oh hell no, I'd never waste my turning of one person on you." Sherlock shuddered and John had a sour face on.

When John was about to make a scathing reply, Sherlock simply left the room. "Cocky bastard." John muttered. He felt the area on his neck that Sherlock bit, he sighed wishfully as he remembered how it felt to be fed on. He would do anything for that feeling again. He had always tried to stay away from addictions, however this one seemed to sneak up on him. The thought bit at his mind as he attempted to fall asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Mycroft looked at Sherlock with a bemused expression on his face. "Are you starting to care for this little human? Caring isn't an advantage, Sherly dear."

"Get out of my flat, Mycroft." Sherlock growled, picking up his violin and playing a scale.

Lestrade cleared his throat uncomfortably, "Sherlock, why do you have the woman's case?" He asked, looking at the pink suitcase.

"Because I found it and I could use it to investigate." Sherlock replied.

"It's evidence!" Lestrade exclaimed. "You may be Mycroft's brother, but you can't just go and take whatever you want from our case."

"I'm using it Lestrade. Where is the phone though? I have her bag but not th- wait. The murderer has the phone! Oh she was clever, she must have left it with the murderer." Sherlock said, words coming out at a pace that most people found hard to follow.

"What?" Lestrade asked.

"The murderer has the phone!" Sherlock exclaimed. "John, John get down here!"

Lestrade and Mycroft looked at Sherlock disapprovingly "Let him sleep, Sherlock, you just drained a lot of blood from his body." Lestrade said, moving to a chair to sit down and get a closer look at the suitcase. "Hey, she has a "Mephone" account. Can't you track mobiles with that?" He asked, looking at the tag.

Sherlock practically pushed Lestrade out of the way in his rush to get to the suitcase. He had noticed the email address in his earlier scan of the suitcase. He had absolutely no knowledge of what Mephone was though. He thought it was just a site where you could sign up with your phone. He never had a chance to find out what it was I. His earlier scan either due to his having basically no friends. "Mycroft, hand me a laptop." Sherlock demanded.

"Is this a favour you're asking for, Dear Brother?" Mycroft smirked, but he brought the suitcase anyway. "I think you now owe me a favour. I will make true of that."

"Piss off, Mycroft." Sherlock snapped as he opened up the laptop and typed in the web address. "Password password. What is the password?" he thought back to the scene and the woman. Images flashed through his mind, little details about the woman. None of them password worthy. Then "Rache" angry note in German? Highly unlikely, but a name. "Rachel, the password is Rachel. But why Rachel? What is so important about a Rachel?"

"Daughter," Lestrade said. "Stillborn daughter's name was going to be Rachel."

"Stillborn daughter? Why does that mean so much to her?" Sherlock asked. Lestrade looked at Sherlock like he was crazy and Mycroft let out an uncomfortable cough. "What, not good?" Sherlock asked.

"Far from it." John said, rubbing his neck as he entered the room. It was obvious he was uncomfortable with the idea that he had just been bit there even though there was no visible mark to prove it. He wondered if he had even been bit at all and if Sherlock had drugged him. The memories of the bite came back and he knew he had been bitten and he wanted more of it. "I'm leaving for now, by the way, I need some time to think about all of this." John grabbed his coat, but left his cane. It was marvelous to be able to walk again. As he was about to leave, Lestrade stood and grabbed his shoulder.

"I'll go with you, John." He said, not offering, but telling. John had no choice but to oblige to the Detective Inspector. As the two left, Sherlock and his brother were left in an awkward silence.

"You seem to be taking this fairly well, John." Lestrade said. "You know, when I found out Mycroft was a vampire I shot him in the shoulder." He laughed.

John let out a startled snort. "How long have you known Mycroft?"

"About five years, was introduced to Sherlock first. He had already been working with the Yard for a while previous to that. Mycroft kidnapped me (much like what he did with you actually) and we hit it off. Of course I didn't find out he was a vampire until a couple of months after that. Didn't end too well for his shoulder but it healed fairly quickly."

"I just punched Sherlock in the nose." John admitted.

"Yeah, I saw." Lestrade said. "Mycroft installed cameras in your flat to keep tabs on his brother."

"Oh." John said, blushing. "So I guess you saw everything."

Lestrade coughed. "Yeah, it happens with everyone we drink from. Intense pleasure and stuff like that." He looked about as uncomfortable talking about it as John did. "But no matter what you do, don't let Sherlock drink from you again. I'm guessing you already want another bite."

"Yeah, it felt… Amazing." John admitted.

"Yeah, and if you let another vampire drink from you, you will become their blood-slave." Lestrade said, suddenly becoming dead serious.

"What do you mean?" John asked.

"Look at it this way, a vampire needs a reliable feeding source. When they drink from a person more than the initial bite (when a bond already forms, by the way. Do you feel at all linked with Sherlock? Because you already have a link formed with him which intensifies with more than one bite.) The person becomes addicted to the bite. They become utterly loyal to that vampire. However, if a person has been bitten by one vampire once, the bite from the second vampire cancels the original link and forms the blood-slave bond with the victim even with that one bite." Lestrade explained. "Not only that, but your blood is basically catnip for vampires. You're one of the people in the world with near-perfect blood. You will need to be careful with Sherlock now, John. Sherlock is a good man, I know he'll try his damnedest to not drink from you again, however all of his instincts are begging him to drink from you."

"So couldn't I just move to end the strain on him? Wouldn't I be much safer?" John asked.

"Yes and no," Lestrade said. "As I mentioned before, a link between the two of you formed with that one bite. Because of that link, Sherlock can tell where you are (and you can tell where Sherlock is). Leaving would be pointless because not only that, but you'll feel drawn to Sherlock. It would eat away at you until you felt forced to go back to him. I'm sorry, John." Lestrade said.

John rubbed at his neck where Sherlock had bitten him. It was crazy, he was linked with a man he had just met that week. "Is there any way to end this link?" He asked.

"Yes, two ways, you or he dies and the link would be severed, or you become a vampire. You see, though, each vampire can only change on person. To change isn't an easy process either. To change someone you need to drain the entirety of their blood, then give them some of your's. Being a vampire isn't easy either. You age a a fraction of the rate of a human, Mycroft and Sherlock are both over five hundred years old and look how young they look." Lestrade explained. "I'm young compared to them. Only about forty three. I'm still at a humanlike age, haven't aged a day since I was changed it's nice but Mycroft is older than me but still looks younger. Weird having a boyfriend who looks younger than you but is older than most people inhabiting this planet."

John was about to say something when Lestrade's phone rung. "Mind if I get that?" Lestrade asked when John shook his head Lestrade picked it up. "What is it, Mycroft? What, Sherlock's missing? What do you mean he's missing? So he got onto the GPS of the mephone and it was outside the flat and he got into a cab? Mycroft, why the hell did you let him leave there? Yeah, love you too, bye." Lestrade hung up his phone and turned to John. "I'm guessing you heard that. You know how I explained the link to you, John?"

"Yeah."

"You'll need to use it to get to Sherlock first. Mycroft and I will follow behind by the GPS and I'll have a squad." Lestrade said, already beginning to run back.

"How do I find him?" John asked.

"Use your mind, John!" Lestrade screamed back as he ran back to the flat. "Think of Sherlock and imagine a thread connecting him to you. You can do it, John."

I just have to think of Sherlock, thought John, it can't be that hard, can it? He tried to think of the lean, pale man but he couldn't get a solid grip on the link. "Fuck, John, think." John muttered to himself. He thought of the bite, the look of sheer rage on Sherlock's face when he punched him, the sheer joy John felt as the blood was drained from his body. He imagined a thread connecting the two men, an intangible bond that linked the vampire and the human. He could feel it working, and he felt himself connected with Sherlock. He opened his eyes and began running in the direction he knew Sherlock was.


	5. Chapter 5

Hey so wow people are still trying to follow this story even after 2 years of it not updating you guys really want some vampire!sherlock johnlock fics don't you

well sadly you're gonna have to look somewhere else for it lol. I'm not that much into sherlock or the pairing johnlock as I had been 2 years ago when I had started writing this story and it rly hadn't been heading anywhere.

Thanks for reading what you had at least, I just thought I'd finally let you guys know that there's not gonna be any more updates for this

also sorry if you guys got excited when you saw there was an update for the story in your inbox or whatever and then realized it was this. How many of you even remember this story or are in the same situation that I'm in where you were a big fan of sherlock 2 years ago then everything kinda fizzled out lol

anyway, later


End file.
